


Until You're Willing to Make Us Legitimate

by hypothetical_chainsaw



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Lilith takes great joy in getting one over on Blackwood, Revenge Sex, Smut, set part 2 episode 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27123362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw
Summary: Zelda, tired of being labelled a wanton hussy by the other witches of the coven, has put a halt on her sordid dalliances with their High Priest until her terms can be met. There’s nothing to say that she has to stay celibate in the meantime though, much to a certain demoness’ glee.Isn’t it strange how the same words used in a new context can elicit a wildly different response?A response to the Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge week three prompt - enemies to lovers
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, minor/past Zelda Spellman/Faustus Blackwood
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90
Collections: Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge





	Until You're Willing to Make Us Legitimate

**Author's Note:**

> So we’re taking lovers in the most literal sense here because otherwise I’d be here writing a 20k slowburn and never get onto the other prompts. As such...enjoy enemies to... _lovers._

The sensation of appearing in shadow was always such a stark contrast to Lilith’s preferred flaming arrivals. Rather than the tantalizing lick of heat against her skin, she was greeted only by the hushed whispers of others who lurked in the darkness in an equally incorporeal state - her shyer creations. It was a welcome she would happily live without if not for the additional leverage a stealthier materialisation allowed her to obtain.

She was quick, however, to return to a fully physical state, her faceless children quietening as she drew in behind a bookcase. It was not the most covert of hiding places but the view of the High Priest’s office was unmatched.

This was not the first little tête-à-tête with today’s sparring partner that she’d been privy to - and she knew through personal experience that Zelda Spellman was a formidable opponent - but if Blackwood’s shell shocked expression was anything to go by, this was the first in which she undeniably had the upper hand.

Zelda toyed with the stone in her hand tracing its curves as she spoke, “And when the fancy strikes you I am also your...night maiden. I have no shame or regrets.” More than one ill-timed apparition had seen Lilith bear witness to the carnality of their relationship and she could attest to the witch’s complete lack of shame, often in _questionable_ situations, “Do you intend to make me Top Lady, as it were? It would certainly silence wagging tongues.”

How Lucifer had yet to create a better title to bestow upon the wives of his High Priests was beyond her. Though if her millennia by his side had taught her anything, he likely took far too much amusement from the double entendre to even contemplate an update.

“Sister Zelda, there is a mourning period we must respect in the eyes of our coven.” How very pious of him. Cowardly so.

“You’re right, Father Blackwood. Wiser to respect decorum. Until you’ve had enough time to mourn, we shall be all business. That means, as much as I enjoy our trysts, no more secret assignations or flagellations. That is, until you’re ready to make us legitimate.” The ultimatum colouring Zelda’s voice was more than Lilith could have hoped.

Zelda set her game piece on the board resolutely, turning the timer as though it were even necessary. She’d won and each of them knew it. Wordlessly, she let Faustus assess the state of play, likely coming to the accurate conclusion that the only move left to him would leave him perilously in harm's way with no hope of retreat.

“Good day, Father Blackwood.” A smug smirk moulding her lips at his defeat, she stood, slipping from his office.

A beat passed before Faustus sank into his chair, disappearing into the soft leather. Oh how Lilith loved arriving when the man was bested. A warning of the Dark Lord’s might, through her lips, when he was already so thoroughly defeated held a perverse appeal she’d been unable to replicate elsewhere.

Her hollowed palms meeting in staccato rhythm as she drew out from the shadows, while not enough to startle him, did provoke a weary sigh and she smirked at the knowledge that he enjoyed her visits even less than she did.

“Father Blackwood, I do hope that show of husbandly devotion wasn’t for my benefit. I frankly couldn’t care less whether you subscribe to the Dark Lord’s more noble moral standings or not, especially when a High Priest is well within his right to bid his flock see these as mere suggestions.” She’d not known a single other coven to maintain the mourning period when a man as eligible as their direct link to the Dark Lord became available once more, “But certainly Sister Spellman would rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t have time for whatever attempt at goading you have in mind.”

He reached for the stack of papers at his side, pulling them into his lap. From the chicken scratches on them, she’d be surprised if they were anything more pressing than the first years’ most recent assignments.

“I can see that. Busy, busy, busy.” Lilith nodded, scooping the top paper from the pile, much to Blackwood’s chagrin.

She was right; the red ink skirting the margins suggested a marking job already completed. Point proven, she discarded it, letting it flutter slowly to the floor between them.

“Trying to outwit a sixteen year old does seem to be a full time pursuit for you and if the current score sheet is anything to go by, you could do with all the practice you can get.”

“Lilith, if you-”

“Just remember, the Dark Lord has a particular interest in this child. I’d hate for him to catch wind of a High Priest participating in any attempts against her will.” Her tone darkened, meeting his fiery gaze, “And by extension, _His_ will.”

“I’m sure.” Faustus rose, a fraction too close as her chin tilted to keep his stare, the demoness’ heels not enough to level their heights, “If by some chance he does discover that Sabrina isn’t up to the challenges, I’m sure her personal shortcomings will leave him in no doubt whose fault it is.”

Placing distance between them, Lilith rounded to the game board, hourglass sands near drained on what was left of Faustus’ turn.

“I always hate when a game’s left unfinished, don’t you?” She mused, eyes flitting to his, “Robs you of that sense of resolution. Why don’t I help you along?” Sliding the largest of Faustus’ pieces across the board, she left it just short of capture at his opponent’s hands, “There, now let’s see what Miss Spellman does next.”

* * *

At 8pm the Desecrated Church should have been empty, save for the most devout. The most devout in this instance took the form of one Zelda Spellman, genuflecting before the altar. Though cast in shadow, flickering candlelight caught the more fiery tones of her hair, painting them golden as the flames themselves.

The aisle separating them, though short, was perhaps the longest walk of Lilith’s life. It had been centuries since she’d stepped this far into a church and yet little had changed. It was sorely in need of a spruce up in fact, a lick of paint, fewer vines growing through the panelling, but it would suffice.

As she neared the woman at the church’s front, her steps echoed back at her from wall and ceiling, magnifying the sound. There wasn’t a better spot in all of Greendale for the acoustics, she was certain of it.

Features schooled into something more apropos for a woman intending to partake in a little late evening prayer, Lilith knelt low beside the witch, a fraction too close to be deemed acceptable.

“Good evening, Miss Spellman.” She bowed her head, drinking in the heat that radiated from her companion; a welcome sensation in the relative chill of the aged building.

Nothing more than a quick glance in her peripherals suggested Zelda’s acknowledgement of Lilith’s arrival. She shifted slightly on her heels, readjusting but not increasing the space between them. Perhaps they weren’t as at odds as Lilith suspected.

“Are excommunicated witches allowed on sacred ground?” Zelda’s words were dry, eyes fixed on the lone candle set before her as she spoke.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Unable to contain the wry smirk that threatened her composure, Lilith moved her lips in a silent show of ‘prayer.’ Her own name featured in it numerous times and for a moment she questioned what one could derive from the act of praying to herself. She would be praying to no one else that evening, or any other.

“And what exactly do those cast from the church pray for?”

If there was a genuine interest there, it was hidden deep beneath a fair show of apathy. In her short time knowing her, Lilith had come to expect nothing less. Standing, Lilith took a candle of her own from the altar’s surface, lighting it with a quietly uttered spell.

“Eternal salvation, good hair days, vengeance. The same as you, I’d imagine.”

In her first show of levity that evening, Zelda smirked, releasing a small exhale of amusement, “Not far off.”

“Now who could you be seeking vengeance against?” Head tilted in question, the faux naivety was almost too much for Lilith herself to bear.

And yet the witch bit; her own reply a terse mix of coy and acerbic wit, “Miss Wardwell, you’re hardly at the top of my list to divulge personal information to.” Still she had not risen from her knees, stooped low not only before her deity’s unholy altar, but the ‘witch’ before her also.

There was something so much more fulfilling about these toying games with women: an unspoken understanding that, though there would undoubtedly be a victor, half the fun was in the delicate repartee that preceded it. Men were always too quick to move ahead, eager to get to the meat of the action, ready to crown themselves before the game had even begun.

They existed in silence for a moment, neither moving from what had lost all pretence of a moment of quiet prayer.

“Men.” Lilith said finally, reaching down a hand in a casual extension of assistance, “I pray for vengeance against men. Your Father Blackwood in particular tonight.”

Huffing incredulously, Zelda ignored the proffered hand, lifting herself to her feet unaided, “Not _my_ Father Blackwood.”

“Oh? Did I hear wrong?”

“I simply find a witch does better as a free agent. Free to do as she pleases.” She situated herself in the front pew, long legs crossing at the knee as she reclined back against aging wood.

There was more to it as Lilith well knew, but she played along, just as she knew Zelda would.

"You don't seem the type for monogamy."

"No. Four weeks of attempting it only to be labelled a _wanton hussy_ was quite the kick in the teeth." Despite the flippant nature of her answer, bitterness sat just beneath the surface, tainting the delivery.

Lilith smirked, sliding into the pew behind her. She lost her view of delicate features, instead focusing on more bodily responses to her advances. For her part, Zelda didn’t turn; her understanding of the unwritten rules of this part of the game clear.

"Is there anything wrong with a witch being unafraid of her desires and acting on them?" Lilith’s finger trailed along the back of the pew as she spoke, stopping millimetres from Zelda’s silk-clad shoulder.

"My sentiments entirely.”

An achingly long beat passed between them, neither speaking, neither moving. Without the altar and show of prayer to distract them, every movement appeared magnified; Zelda’s fingers strumming against the seat beside her speaking to more than mere agitation. And yet it was Lilith who broke first, the act of naivety now long gone.

“And what if I were to tell you my desires? And you can see if you still feel the same after that?”

“Surely the question is - would I care to hear them?”

A charged silence fell over the room, as Lilith leant forward, closing the distance between them until the scent of Zelda’s shampoo coloured her senses, strands disturbed with every measured exhale. Zelda’s back stiffened in response, her fingers stilling beside her.

Voice dropping, Lilith toyed with a loose curl where it lay against Zelda’s spine, “Oh as a prominent feature of them I would have thought you might.”

“Oh really?” The faux-nonchalance was slipping, head tilting just enough to catch Lilith from the edge of her vision should she choose to.

“I haven’t been welcomed into a church for some time now, and yet nothing’s changed; such a stark reminder of the High Priest that did me wrong. I’m sure you can empathise with that, but the fact still remains that I’ve had far longer to concoct my vengeance than you.” Any space that had remained between them promptly vanished as her chest pressed flush against Zelda’s back, her words barely more that a whisper, “And yet the only thought running through my mind as I saw you on your knees was: where should I fuck Miss Spellman?”

“Really,” Zelda’s breathing had shallowed, distorting the would-be chill of her tone, “Should the formalities not be dropped given my prevalence in your most sinful thoughts?”

“You’re changing the subject, Miss Spellman.”

“Not at all,” Her voice dripped with longing and yet still she played for the upper hand, “But if you’re going to be crying out anything, I want it to be my name upon your lips.”

She wouldn’t be the one crying anyone’s name on this occasion, but she’d let the witch discover that in her own time.

“Well then, _Zelda,_ ” Lilith breathed across the shell of her ear, a single finger tracing the column of her neck, pulse rapid beneath it, “Where would such a _wanton_ witch as yourself want most to be fucked?“ She paused, letting the words settle in the still of their surroundings as Zelda’s breath hitched.

“Spread across the altar, a sacrificial feast of sorts?” A slight gasp escaped the witch at the very notion, eyes no doubt flitting to the hardwood table. How beautiful she’d look strewn across it.

She pressed on, lips brushing the base of her jaw as she spoke, “Beneath an effigy of her Dark Lord, so when she cries his name he might hear her blasphemous prayers?” The muted moan that elicited was truly unexpected. It wouldn’t have been Lilith’s choice and yet images of the woman, lips clamped shut as she fought back her desire danced through her vision unbidden.

“Or bare upon the pulpit, knowing that come tomorrow’s Black Mass her High Priest will find his Bible thoroughly destroyed and the scent of his ex-mistress still fresh in the air?” Zelda shifted in the pew before her, her thighs pressing together all the more tightly as she whimpered, and Lilith couldn’t avoid the smug peal of laughter that disturbed the perfectly coiffed curls at the witch’s neck, “I feel that last one would meet both our purposes, quite fittingly, don’t you?”

“I entirely agree.” Zelda gulped back, nodding sharply.

Hands already at the pussybow beneath her chin, Zelda turned into Lilith’s embrace, the pew an inconvenient divider. It didn’t remain so for long, however, Lilith shimming from her own pew, silk of the newly released bow firm within her grasp.

Leading her deftly by the neck, Lilith began her backward trajectory towards the pulpit. It was only three steps, and yet her companion’s shaky legs made slow work of it. When mere inches remained between her and her goal, she gave a hard jerk on the fabric between her fingers, earning a yelp of surprise from the witch as she was sent careening forward, body pressing deliciously against Lilith’s.

She let her hands smooth over the soft curve of Zelda’s hips, gripping slightly harder than necessary as she reached round, tugging the zipper down, and freed her from the confines of her pencil skirt. With a little assistance passing over her hips, it sank to the floor at her feet.

Yet more fabric sat beneath it; the light silk of Zelda’s slip still obscuring Lilith’s view of the prize that waited beneath. Satan the woman was proper.

“Well aren’t we dedicated to the full 40’s aesthetic. I half expected to find a corset under here.” Lilith quipped, deft fingers making light work of the blouse buttons to reveal yet more of the slip below.

It sat low at her chest, the plunging neckline revealing only pale skin where her bra should sit beneath it. Perhaps not as proper as she thought.

“If only you’d propositioned me a day earlier.” Eyes hooded, the corner of Zelda’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smirk as she caught Lilith’s eyeline.

“My, my, maybe those witches had a point.”

If Zelda was intending to object she was cut short by teeth against her neck, their gentle nipping drawing all her focus. Instead a moan broke free, as she was divulged of her blouse, slip trailing behind. Her hands snagged in Lilith’s hair as the lace of her underwear was pulled from her tearing beyond recognition. She growled as the tattered scrap of fabric joined the rest of her attire on the cold stone shooting daggers at the demoness.

The pulpit was slightly higher than anticipated and, as Lilith lifted her onto the small ledge at its top, making a cushion of Faustus’ Bible, her eyeline sat level with the witch’s navel. Spreading Zelda’s thighs wide, she gave a second’s pause, taking in the scene before her. Bare to the chill church air, all modesty abandoned with her clothing, Zelda reclined in wait, bruises already forming along her neck from Lilith’s previous attention. Her chest heaved in time with shallow breaths as the anticipation built. Too much apparently. She huffed indignantly, a hand in her hair jerking the brunette forward.

The moment she was close enough, Lilith’s tongue was at her hipbone, revelling in the sudden jerk of the thigh beneath her hand. She dropped lower, breath ghosting over wet folds. A whimper sounded above her as she changed course, lips instead brushing over the delicate flesh of the witch’s inner thigh.

She repeated the action on the opposite hip, luxuriating in the squirm it prompted as she stopped dangerously short of the growing wetness between the witch’s thighs to instead pepper kisses along the delicate skin between hip and knee.

Pliant flesh gave beneath her combination of lips and teeth, biting hard as she began the return journey.

The assumption that Zelda enjoyed a little pain with her pleasure was right; a shaky “ _Please.”_ mingling with her staggered breaths as she attempted to retain some semblance of control.

“‘Please’ what?” She questioned coyly, index finger drawing patterns along the crux of her hip as she made to repeat her teasing once more.

“Don’t tease me.” It was practically a whine as Lilith ignored the request, fingers skirting oh so close to where they were wanted.

Toying only a moment longer, Lilith’s tongue flicked out to capture her clit. The resulting groan was rich and heady; somehow deeper than Zelda’s already low timbre. Fingers splaying wide across her hips, Lilith drew her in closer, eager to hear the full array of desire-filled sounds she could elicit.

One, two, wide drags of her tongue and a pale hand lost itself in her hair, edging her yet closer to the canting hips before her. The cry that broke free at the gentle suction she added on the third pass over her clit reverberated back at her from every wall. She increased the pressure, only taking mercy when the muscles beneath her fingers quivered, Zelda’s hips seemingly taking on a life of their own as they drove forward even as she pleaded for a reprieve. For a witch who had given as good as she’d gotten only minutes before, she certainly did like to beg. The thought alone sent a thrill through Lilith.

With one last swirl of her tongue, she released her, pulling back only far enough to kiss along the crease of her hip, teeth sinking in as she reached the slope of her waist.

From her new vantage point she had an unimpeded view of the double doors far across the room. Or rather, she had an unimpeded view of the High Priest who stood frozen before them. _Right on time._

The moment’s pause having given Zelda time to recover her senses, she reached down, once more insistent in her need.

“Mary…” The name sounded foreign in this setting; panted out between settling breaths.

“Say it, _Zelda_.” She didn’t miss the resultant shiver at the mention of her name, and neither, from the looks of it, did Faustus, his eyes widening further at the sight, “Tell me what you need.” Lilith eyes flicking up to the flushed woman above her, she had no doubt what the request would be, but to hear it, know that _he_ would hear it, was an opportunity not to be missed.

Her chin was caught in Zelda’s grasp, tilted up until she was met with eyes flooded with desire. In a great show of controlled enunciation despite teetering on the edge of control, she left no room for doubt, “ _Fuck me.”_

Before the command was fully out, Lilith’s fingers entered her harshly, strangling the sentence’s end. It would be enough however, Blackwood would know that she wanted this. _Asked_ for it.

Her pace was unrelenting, sweat dappling against her brow despite the air’s chill. It matched the thin layer coating Zelda’s skin as the red of her cheeks slowly spread, disguising the marks at her neck, and colouring her chest vibrantly.

Where only moments before she had been able to meet Lilith’s eyes, just for Zelda to keep her own open seemed a challenge now, hips rocking desperately against her hand, fragmented curses falling from her lips.

“Will you be at tomorrow’s service? Still feeling my lips against your skin? Reminding him what he has no claim to?” Her eyes locked with Blackwood’s, the words as much for him as the woman trembling under her touch.

“Satan, _yes._ ” Zelda moaned, head falling back.

She whimpered softly with each thrust, nails seeking purchase on any surface they could find. One hand settled for the oak beneath her, surely chipping it with the intensity, the other clamping tight on Lilith’s shoulder. She hissed as the skin pierced.

“Will you sit in the front row, so when you cross your legs your skirt will rise just enough to see the marks along your thigh? And when you lead the choir know you’re still hoarse from screaming my name?” Lilith’s own breathing followed the harried gasping that filled the room, her own thighs slick with desire at the suggestion.

Zelda could manage only a pained nod in response, a raw groan ripping from her throat.

“Can I..?” The question was stilted, Zelda’s lip caught between her teeth as her climax neared.

“Tell me first; what are you?”

Lilith wanted nothing more than to watch Blackwood’s response; see the realisation dawn that, despite his inflated ego, Zelda would do just fine without him. Yet the woman above her had her entranced, barely able to think as her lips moved frantically to find the words she needed.

“I-” Zelda’s keening sob cut her short as her body jerked ever closer to her peak.

“Tell me and you can come.” Loose circles of Lilith’s thumb over her clit had her crying out once more, chin suddenly falling forward as lustful eyes met Lilith’s.

“ _A wanton hussy_.” The words hitched in her throat, seemingly the last push she needed.

Thighs clamped either side of the demoness, drawing her ever closer as her fingers thrust in a sharp counter rhythm to the redhead’s rolling hips and she lost herself to her pleasure. The name _Mary_ reverberated off the walls in a more rapturous form of praise than any of the coven’s prayers and for just a second Lilith would have given anything for it to be her own name cascading from the witch's lips.

Zelda collapsed forward, forearms resting heavy on Lilith’s shoulder as she fought desperately for air and Lilith slowed, drawing out the last vestiges of her climax.

As Zelda’s breathing slowed, Lilith glanced out from behind her hip to the now open doorway, all signs of Blackwood gone. Her lips curved into a victorious smirk before crashing into Zelda’s in a bruising kiss.

* * *

Lilith’s next spell in the Desecrated Church was not nearly as enjoyable; an overly misogynistic retelling of the passion play Faustus’ last ditch attempt at retaining his place on the gameboard. Paired with the turtledove hearts encased in a locket around Zelda’s neck during Lupercalia, it seemed he’d managed somehow; scrambling back from near-certain defeat. _Touché_.

And yet, if Miss Meeks were to be believed, Zelda’s name upon the parent-teacher conference sign up sheet the following week was a Baxter High first. Perhaps the game wasn’t over after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Well then! I love the idea that Lilith would toy with Blackwood; there's no way their strained relationship ended when Sabrina signed the book.
> 
> Please let me know you thoughts and thanks as always for reading!


End file.
